


People Only See What They Want To

by anarchycox



Series: The Beast and the Bard [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, Exhibitionism, Fluff, M/M, Name Calling, POV Outsider, Sex, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, dedicated monster fucker jaskier, monstrous geralt, mutations changed him physically a lot, ugly geralt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:35:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23606137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anarchycox/pseuds/anarchycox
Summary: A continuation of the world where the mutations made Geralt a lot more physically monstrous, and Jaskier is a-okay with it.5 Times we see Geralt and Jaskier through other people's eyes, and one time we see exactly what Jaskier does.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: The Beast and the Bard [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1699132
Comments: 453
Kudos: 1670





	1. Triss

Triss was humming to herself as she cut the herbs, and sprinkled them into the pot. It was a song they were singing in the tavern in the village. It wasn’t the most brilliant or complex song, but it easily stuck in your head. Plus she giggled every time at the thought of someone daring to throw a coin at the one Witcher she has ever met. At least if you were throwing it at Geralt, you’d never miss. Hard to miss a mountain.

“Toss a coin to your Witcher,” she sang a little off key. The song also had the benefit of being the length of time needed to stir this particular concoction. She reached the end and the colour changed. Perfect. She added a couple other things, and now it would have to bubble over night. She tidied up her work area and realized there was nothing more she had to attend to that day. She changed into cozy bed clothes, and poured a generous glass of wine. She settled onto her chaise under a fur and was ready to read the rather bawdy book a woman had left her in payment for a poultice.

She was three pages into the chapter and there was a banging on the door. She huffed. “Come back tomorrow she called.” There was a small chance that would work, but if it was the king who needed her, she doubted it. The banging continued. Triss wrapped the fur around her shoulders and opened the door. She didn’t recognize the man in front of her. “Hello? I’m sorry, but I was working all day and I don’t have anything left in me.”

“I can’t get his monstrous arse off the horse by myself.” They both heard the thud of a large something falling, and the man sighed. “I can’t drag his monstrous arse in here by myself.”

She was about to firmly send him away, but she caught the scent of flesh that would soon rotten. “What happened?”

“Something poisony,” he said. “I don’t - he’s taken poison before and been fine, he’s always fine. Why isn’t he fine? He said your name before he couldn’t speak anymore, focused on staying awake, us getting here.” The man disappeared into the shadows, and was clearly trying to drag a person to her. 

Triss grabbed a candle and hurried after him. “Geralt,” she said and quickly knelt next to him.

“You do know him,” the man said. “You can help him?”

“Maybe,” she said. Triss really didn’t care for the smell that was coming from him. She knew that smell. “Did you see what attacked him?”

“He just shouted trap and pushed me out of the way, and then started fighting something. It screamed, he screamed. And here we are.” The man just looked at her. “I know he is scary looking, but if you know him, you know he won’t hurt you.”

“I know,” she said. She took one arm and began to tug. They were both sweating and cursing as they pulled Geralt into her home, but at least he was inside. She wasn’t even going to attempt to get him into the bed. The last time she had cared for him, he had barely fit and broken the ropes that held it up with his size. “I need him naked, to see exactly where he is injured. I know his body is…” she was desperate to think of a polite word.

“Scarred, furry, though not too bad being spring, weirdly leathery no matter how he insists it is normal skin? All in all not as hideous as his face?” The man sounded almost cheerful, and was very efficiently removing Geralt’s clothes He took everything off in moments.

“That needs to come off his wrist,” she said.

“No,” the man replied. “He would be furious if that was removed. Someone tried once, used those appalling fangs of his to rip out their throats.” He looked up at her. “It stays.”

“You took the wolf school medallion off, he never takes that off,” she said. 

“He took it off two years ago and hasn’t put it back on,” the man replied. “Please.”

Triss nodded and hurried over. A wave of her hand had the room lit like it was full of sun. She looked him over and it would seem he was uninjured. “Check his armor, his clothes, see if there are any holes.” She was running her hands over the scarred skin. Geralt didn’t react at all. Even his cock laid dormant and usually any man touched like this aroused, even in a coma. Her fingers ran over his hip and moved on, but then went back. “Here,” she said.

“Yes the hip bones are actually quite nice, frame the dick well, you can feel him up later, so long as you find out what is wrong with him! The ugly bastard owes me!”

Triss recoiled a bit at the venom in the man’s voice. “You are keeping him alive because he owes you money?”

“No, more valuable than that - he never has coin. People should toss more at him,” the man said. “Heal him!”

“I am,” Triss said back. “But if you are going to be cruel, you can leave us. When he wakes I will pretend a good Samaritan helped him.” 

“Not fucking leaving.”

Triss hurried to her work table, and grabbed a few things. She set a dagger over flame. “Poison spines got in under his armor. They are thin, vicious things, that will rot him from the inside out. And being a Witcher on the potions he uses to hunt, the skin already healed over. I need to cut them out and pour a great deal of painful and cleaning antidote on the wounds.”

“My hands are steady and they are yours.”

“His skin will want to heal and it will need to be held open. I don’t think -”

She was impressed with the strength in the man’s eyes. “I will do whatever you need.”

“Because he owes you.”

“Fucking right,” Jaskier agreed, “And his ugly ass is going to pay the fuck up.”

“I loathe you,” Triss said politely and brought everything over. “Do you know the song Her Sweet Kiss?”

“Of course I fucking do,” the man snapped. 

“Sing it. Because I need to have all those spines out, and the medicine poured in, before it ends, because we are losing him fast. Can you do that?”

There was almost a hysterical laughter. “How wouldn’t I?"

“I don’t know, you don’t look very musically inclined.” Triss wondered why he was laughing so much. And she watched the laughter turn to sobs. But his hands were steady. She ignored the crying, because the smell was growing. “Ready?” There was a faint nodded. “1, 2, 3,” she said and he began to sing. Triss ruthlessly sliced open Geralt’s skin on his hip and the man’s hands were steady and held the skin open. He didn’t even react as Geralt roared. 

“Stay the fuck still, you fucking brute,” the man roared back, in the tune of Her Sweet Kiss.

She pulled the spines out, not caring about how much damage she did, because the potion would heal it all. She didn’t measure or carefully poor, she just dumped the whole thing in the wound. To hear a Witcher scream in agony like that, one who was created to endure so much, made her shed a tear as well. The man was sobbing and still singing. Triss poured a second vial in, and with this one, tears poured from Geralt’s eyes even as he was still unconscious. When the man finished singing, Triss eased his fingers away. “Well done,” she said softly. “You sing well.”

“I sing much better than this. That needs to be stitched shut?”

“It does, but I can -”

“I always stitch him shut,” he said. 

“So that he can pay you what he owes you?”

“Indeed.”

She brought him the supplies and he was careful did good work, and she cast healing on it. The rotten smell was receding. She got a pillow for Geralt’s head, and a blanket to cover him. “You can have the bed, I will stay up with him tonight.”

“So will I,” the man said.

“What’s your name?”

“I have many. But most call me Jaskier.”

Triss blinked. “The bard in love with Geralt?” She looked at him. “Yennefer has spoken of you.”

“I can imagine what she has said,” Jaskier laughed a bit. “You wondered where he medallion was.”

“I did,” Triss agreed. “Witchers never take it off.”

“They do if they give it to their husbands.” 

Triss watched him lift the medallion out from under the doublet, and then put it away well hidden. She was quiet and watched him bandage the wound, wipe Geralt’s forehead. He held Geralt’s hand, stroking the back. “What does he owe you?”

“A romantic anniversary.” 

Triss looked down at Geralt. Even in sleep, he looked ready to hunt, to murder, and the bard was petting him. “I’ll make sure he can keep that promise.”

“Oh, he doesn’t know he was going to give me that. No fine restaurant will have us. He’s ugly and I’m loud.” Jaskier smiled. “I was going to surprise him with a gift he could give me. And I was going to let him hunt me in the woods.”

“And that is romantic?” Triss was pretty sure from the smirk on Jaskier's face, hunt meant a very specific thing.

“It is for us.”

“I get Toss a Coin stuck in my head, you know.”

“He lives, I’ll write a song about you. A better one than I wrote about Yennefer.”

Triss didn’t respond to that. It was a long night, and every time Geralt began to thrash in his sleep, Jaskier would lay down holding him, singing to him. Triss watched it calm Geralt each time. She gazed at the tie around the wrist and wondered exactly it was, but it was clearly about them. Jaskier fell asleep against Geralt, and was drooling on him. Triss carefully adjusted the blanket around them both. When dawn came, she was struggling to stay awake, but the smell was gone, and Geralt’s colour was good.

He slowly blinked awake, and was looking around. Triss realized he was looking for Jaskier because once he realized what the weight against him was he seemed to relax. His head turned a bit. “Triss.”

“You’ll be fine,” she promised him. “You have to be. Apparently you owe him a romantic anniversary.” She watched Geralt smile, the fangs barely fitting in his mouth. “Your wedding?”

“Who the fuck knows, according to him we have to celebrate our first meeting, first kiss, first fuck, first I love you - twice since we said it at different times, when we said our promises, first time I said I liked a song he wrote.”

“It’s that one. You said you liked A Princess and a Promise.”

“Because it is about our daughter,” Geralt said and kissed Jaskier’s head.

Triss looked at them, and smiled. “You can leave tomorrow. I want to keep an eye on you today.”

“I’m fine,” Geralt said.

“No you are ugly and stupid for not seeing that there was a trap and getting almost dead.”

Triss was ready to throw a great deal of magic at Jaskier, but Geralt was laughing happily, and pulling the bard on top of him, who was smiling down at Geralt, as if Geralt had a face, that well a bard would write a song about. “I’ll go get food,” she said. When she returned, whistling Toss a Coin, she almost flung the food at them.

“We just cut that hip open last night, you shouldn’t be riding him like that!” Triss shouted. She put the food down and hurried away. When she returned they were gone, some coin left behind. A few months later she was in a tavern and a young woman sang a song she said was by the great bard Jaskier of the White Wolf, called The Healer’s Hands. Triss listened and realized the song was about her. She flushed in pleasure and wiggled on her stool.

There was a song about her out in the world.

And it was a good one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://archiveofourown.org/works/23724781 if you follow this link, an amazing person wrote and recorded what they thought Jaskier's song for Triss might be like - check it out!


	2. Valdo Marx

His rooms at the keep were lush and suited his rank as the country’s premiere balladeer. The Duke and Duchess enjoyed his songs, and he was theirs for the summer months. It added to his prestige when he returned to the university to be Dean every fall. He always made sure to emphasize how important they were to him, but seeing future generations learn from him, was so vital to the world of art, that he could not forsake his noble duty to education. Mostly he enjoyed the fawning of the young students.

Valdo was packing up to ready for the journey. His lord and lady always sent him back in their finest carriage, and a heavy purse. They liked being known for their benevolence and generosity. He dressed carefully for his last night of performing in the keep, he was going to make them weep with the saga he had been composing. He strode down the halls, giving a regal nod to servants, kissing hands of minor nobility here for his final performance of the season. He made his way to the dining hall, a beautiful room, with gorgeous tapestries that he was far too polite to mention were a titch out of the current style. He walked up to the head table and noticed an empty seat next to the duchess. Usually their daughter sat there, but she was one down.

Valdo gave a deep bow, “It always pains me to leave you, but education must never come second. I hope tonight, my new song that I have been working on will move you and your company to joy and tears.”

“Valdo, we will miss you so. And we have arranged a surprise for you this evening! A special gift. Come sit next to me,” she urged.

Valdo didn’t react though he wanted to shout with glee. He had sat at the head table before but always at the end. To be seated next to the duchess, was indeed a special honour, that he would drop oh so casually into conversation at the university. He bowed again before he sat. He wondered what the special gift was. He hoped it was something that could be worn, or show off. Subtly of course. 

Valdo was a master of subtlety. “My lady, to be seated next to you, is all the gift a man could need.”

She giggled, a young woman's sound, in her aging face. But flattery was always a good thing to deploy, and she had likely been beautiful once. She lay a hand on his arm. “You always work so hard for us, so beautifully. We heard there was another bard visiting the village. A very popular one, we are given to understand. And we thought, after all your years with us, that you deserved to be treated as a dear guest, and not someone who works for us. Sit with us, dine with us, enjoy the entertainment.”

He kissed her fingers, and made sure that his frustration didn’t show on face. He was a performer, and he wanted to feed off their praise. But still, he was being shown his value, and well he was sure whatever backwater bard was rolling through the village would appreciate his honest criticism. “You are far too kind,” he praised her. Yes, being the benevolent bard, offering breadcrumbs of praise to some poor sad bastard would be quite generous of him. Valdo was quite warming up to the idea in fact. Everyone was taking their seats and he really did enjoy the envy on the servant’s face as she poured Valdo wine, the same the duchess was drinking, from her personal reserve. 

Yes, tonight was shaping up to be perfect.

There was a knock at the large door and when it opened, the room froze for a moment before the screams of ‘monster’ began and people began to move. The man was…Valdo wasn’t even sure if he was a man - he had traveled a great deal and never seen anyone so massive. He was practically a giant of legend. He had yellow cat eyes, long white hair, fangs. There was a scar on his face, the armor black and clearly patched at least thrice over. Giant swords were on his back. Valdo had only see the like in pictures in horror stories.

“Yes, yes, the Great White Wolf, the peerless Witcher Geralt of Rivia, often causes a reaction, but I promise tonight there is no monster business, he is here merely as mine,” a voice said from behind the monstrosity.

Valdo recognized that voice.

It haunted his nightmares.

“Be assured good people, Geralt will need not protect you from the monsters you are worried that his arrival brings.”

Of course Jaskier was dim enough to not realize that they were calling the Witcher a monster. Valdo watched Jaskier step around that humanesque mountain and move to the middle of the floor. He gave a deep bow, to the duke and duchess. “I am so honoured that you asked me here to sing for your honoured guest. Who is?” Jaskier looked up and Valdo for a moment wanted to crow.

Because Jaskier was going to sing. He would have to sing to please him. Valdo beamed. This was better than any gift he had ever received in his life. He watched Jaskier’s eyes flash loathing before his paltry manners smoothed out the fire.

“Our beloved bard returns to the university he so honourably teaches at,” the duchess explained. “And for a treat, tonight he is our dearest guest. We thought he would enjoy the work of a fellow bard on this last night. I do so hope you will be able to please him. He is an incredibly skilled and studied man.”

“I admit, my fare is…simpler than the great Valdo Marx, but I hope to entertain everyone here tonight,” Jaskier said, and Valdo smirked. They must be paying him very well if he is actually complementing Valdo. Valdo sat back in his chair and smiled at Jaskier.

“I look forward to your simple fare, and I promise to not judge you by the university’s standards. Perhaps I’ll even be able to give you some advice before the end of the night!” Valdo raised his glass in salute.

“Oh how generous of you,” the duchess praised.

“If we don’t help weaker artists than ourselves learn and grow, what is the point of what we do?” Valdo said humbly. He looked over at the Witcher who was leaning against a pillar, and had a mug in hand. Probably was standing because if he sat, he’d break a chair. “What is your name, humble jester? I’m sorry, the clothes were so bright, you must have traded for them at some point with a clown. Bard, what is your name?”

“I have many,” Jaskier replied and clearly was trying to make Valdo die with his mind. Valdo was untouched. “But these days I mostly go by Jaskier of the White Wolf. But being court, I am happy to use my viscount titles if the lord and lady would prefer.”

What the fuck, since when was that fool a viscount?

“We hadn’t realized,” the duchess seemed impressed. 

“There is no reason to have, I much prefer Jaskier. Please enjoy, dear guests,” Jaskier said with a bow. His first few songs were just playing the lute, background music, not interfering with the conversation. His fingering was better but still not as precise as it could be on the pieces. Jaskier always rushed through these pieces, not realizing how important they were to setting the mood. The man had really not improved since he had last heard a 8 years ago. He smirked into his wine a bit, well pleased and thinking of the perfect insult.

“And how is he Valdo, to my ears he has talent,” the duchess leaned in.

Valdo smiled at her. “To be sure, there is a rustic charm to the way he plays. A modicum of education is there. If he were to study he could have a great deal of potential, but by the grey in his hair, he probably would not seek out deeper study. Old dogs, and new tricks.”

“But you are enjoying?”

Valdo smiled at her. “You have no idea how much.”

He hid his sneer when Jaskier finally began to sing in between courses. The crowd was pleased by the cheap and tawdry songs, stomping and hooting along with Fishmonger. Valdo never lowered himself to that sort of filth.

“I have some measure of success in the world, and I wrote a song that many consider popular. I am hoping some of you dear guests will know it.”

A groan could be heard from that thing leaning against the wall, and Jaskier actually winked at it. Valdo barely contained his shudder of revulsion. How desperate was Jaskier to wink at that whatever the Witcher was. Perhaps Jaskier had traded his security for sex. The man always did get into trouble.

He began to sing Toss a Coin, and it seemed the whole room cheered. On the chorus there was a great deal of singing along, and Valdo watched Jaskier play to them, feed off their energy.

“I know it is nothing to compare to the elegant music you play, Valdo, but I do enjoy this song,” the duchess said as she clapped.

“It is very popular,” Valdo agreed, and his smile was strained. He saw Jaskier smile at him, and he was looking far too smug at the way the crowd was roaring along. He nodded and clapped at the end. He was sure that as the main course was brought out, Jaskier would return to his quieter playing. It was what they taught at the university, what Valdo did. It was what was done.

Only Jaskier was moving in between the tables, singing away, equally to the servants as to the nobility. It was appalling and grandstanding and everything that was wrong with the profession. And the room was eating it up. He was singing songs about bedding maids and wives and that monster was smirking behind the mutton he was gnawing on with those vile fangs. 

And the worst part, was that Jaskier was good. The way he sang the songs, the way his fingers strummed, the bastard had grown in his skill over the years. Valdo was furious. How dare the man, win over the crowd so much? This was his hall. But Valdo knew a way to destroy Jaskier. When Jaskier hit a pause between songs, Valdo raised his hand and gestured him over.

“Good sir,” Jaskier tilted his head. “You called? Do you enjoy my fare?”

“It is certainly boisterous,” Valdo said.

“You have very clever fingers,” the duchess added.

“My lady, you have no idea. And many a year ago I would have happily shown you, but alas my husband prefers I only be his, and I could never object to what my dear heart wants.”

“That is so romantic, and yet your husband does not travel with you? Does business keep him fixed?”

“My husband stands against that pillar, we seldom travel without each other,” Jaskier said.

“You are married to that monstrosity? Even you could do better than that,” Valdo said in pure shock. “Jaskier, what the fuck?” Valdo didn’t care at the look of surprise the duchess gave him.

“Oh it is on,” Jaskier said darkly. “You were going to request a song. Request it, whatever it was you were going to request to try to suggest that you are better than me, and I promise no one will even remember your name by the end of the night.”

“A ring ballad,” Valdo snapped. “In the western style.” They required more traditional structure than Jaskier could do. “Our good duke is a former military man, so if you know one of battle I am sure it would be most welcome. My own composition of Queen Calanthe’s conquering of the her western border was incredibly well received.”

“Well, I hate that dead bitch, so I think I’ll go in a different direction,” Jaskier said. “I think I will go with this instead.” He moved to the center of the floor and began to sing. He wasn’t playing his lute just clapping his hands, and that monster that he married picked up the beat.

Valdo felt his jaw drop as Jaskier began to sing of the sorceresses who held Sodden Hill against the Nilfgaardian Empire. The song circled and wove and always ended where it began, and all sung in perfect pitch to that Witcher’s clapping hands. He had never heard the like, and certainly not from Jaskier.

The room was silent as he let the last note linger. When he closed his eyes and hung his head, the silence hurt for a moment. And then the applause was overwhelming.

Years he had sung in this court and never had such a response.

That thing went over and pulled Jaskier into a hug and Jaskier couldn’t even fully wrap his arms around it to hug in return. 

Valdo realized that the duchess was glaring at him that he wasn’t clapping and he made sure to applaud politely. Jaskier returned to his more common fare, but the strength of that song lingered.

And when he took a break the duke and duchess could not stop singing Jaskier’s praises.

“If you will excuse me, I’d like to go have a conversation with the bard. Offer my thanks for his work tonight.”

“Of course, of course. It is like when the duke’s old friend come. People love to talk shop.” She waved him away, and Valdo stood up. Jaskier and his thing were stepping out into the hall, and Valdo hurried after them. 

“Jaskier,” Valdo called. Jaskier stopped.

“Sir, I hope my music made your evening enjoyable,” Jaskier gave a polite bow.

Valdo glared at him. He didn’t notice that the door hadn’t closed all the way behind him. “What was that? You don’t have that talent. What magic did you use? Who did you steal that song from?” He had started to move forward but the attack wolf next to him snarled and Valdo moved quickly back. “You are a back water, shitty act, who was laughed out of university for thinking that those trashy songs had any value.”

“The company seemed to enjoy them,” Jaskier pointed out.

“Because they are all yokels who wouldn’t know substance if it came up and choked them!” Valdo snarled. “Where did you get that ring ballad from?”

“I wrote it,” Jaskier said. “Because the hero of that battle showed me what happened, and those who died their deserved my best. And my best? Is better than you any fucking day of the week, Valdo Marx, because I don’t give a damn about your rules or what matters to this one person. I can about the music and that people gain pleasure from it. I care about the story. You only care about the applause.”

“You are nothing, less than nothing, if all that will fuck you is that foul behemoth next to you. I will be written about in history books and no one will ever remember your name.”

“No, maybe not, but they will remember my songs,” Jaskier said. “Valdo?”

“What?” Valdo shouted.

“You really should consider what people like to hear, and what they don’t like to hear.”

“Why should I give a damn about them?” Valdo sneered. “You think anyone here can truly appreciate my genius?”

“They seem to enjoy music well enough, and also hear just fine when a door isn’t closed.” Jaskier pointed and Valdo turned. The duke and duchess were standing there, glaring at him. “And they tend not to like being called yokels.” Jaskier was beaming as he said it.

“I think you do not need to return after your university year ends, Mr. Marx,” the duchess said. “Jaskier, you are welcome any time.”

“My lady,” Valdo started to move forward, but they returned to the dining hall and the door closed in his face. He turned and that thing was laughing at him, the fangs making him drool just a bit. “You ruined me.”

“You ruined yourself. I always wanted to ruin you, but this was much more satisfying.”

“Well I hope you are satisfied sucking that monster’s dick.”

“I am, actually.”

“Probably monstrously small and diseased since only whores would fuck him.” Valdo didn’t care, because word would spread, it always did that he was rude to the wrong people. He glared at Jaskier. “You no talented hack, and your creature there. You -” Valdo stumbled back, shocked by the punch. Shocked honestly that it came from Jaskier, and not the Witcher.

“I am the only one who gets to call him a monster, and nobody insults his fantastic cock,” Jaskier said and was pressing forward. He was scary. Valdo had never thought he’d be scared of that peacocky mediocre bard, but he was. He started to scramble back. 

“That’s enough, Jaskier,” the beast said and picked him up and for a moment it was almost comical how Jaskier was still moving in the air, wanting to hurt Valdo. “You still will want to play more tonight, and don’t want to hurt your hands.”

“He insulted your dick! Your dick is as perfect as your face isn’t!”

“I know, and you know and that is enough. Sort of like you can finally rest assured you are better than him in every way.”

Valdo watched Jaskier go limp in the Witcher’s arms. 

“Yes, my beloved monster, I do believe you are right. Come let me go sing for them, and we’ll get very drunk, and you’ll fuck me in the comfortable bed they’ve given us.” Jaskier was put down and walked by Valdo without another glance.

Valdo felt small. And he felt smaller when that thing loomed over him. 

“Never even think Jaskier’s name again, or I’ll show you what sort of monster I am,” Geralt promised. He went into the hall as well.

As Valdo sat there, his bags were brought to him and the door was pointed to. He was given just enough money to see him back to Oxenfurt.

Jaskier.

Fucking Jaskier.

He flinched though that he had thought the name. He hurried out of the keep, just in case that witcher could read his mind and would come after him. Every tavern he stopped in on the way home, he heard a Jaskier song. The bard was haunting him. When he arrived in Oxenfurt he collapsed in his rooms, and decided to never leave again. Then he wouldn’t hear that dreadful Toss a Coin song again.

His first day of teaching, he walked into the hall, and one lad was singing it. 

Valdo was cursed.

Fucking Jaskier.


	3. A Barmaid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> figured safer to give a head's up. Geralt and Jaskier are doing a wee bit of public role playing scene, and on one hand people didn't consent to being a part of their scene, but also they didn't actually expect anyone would pay attention to them.

The barmaid, Sachi, shook her head no. “You take the ale to him.”

“That Witcher there killed the wyvern that was destroying our cows, and is going to get whatever he wants,” the tavern owner said. “And if he wants you, he gets that too,” he warned. “Or you’ll be out of work.”

She glared at him. “I’m not a whore.” She might enjoy the company of travelers through their small town regularly, but she was sure as hell not fucking that thing in the corner.

“See to his needs, and you’ll be paid triple this week.”

So maybe she was a bit of a whore, because triple was nothing to sneeze at. She took the mug of ale and lowered her blouse a bit. She brought it to the table in the corner and tried to look the witcher in the eye and couldn't quite do it - they were too not human to look into. “I understand you saved our village, sir, I thank you.” Sachi made sure to bend over a bit at the waist as she set the ale down. She had fantastic tits and more than one patron had enjoyed looking.

“They paid me well,” was his reply.

And he wasn’t looking at her tits, but passed her. She turned a bit. “Is the bard’s song not to your liking? He arrived yesterday. Been nice to have some proper music in here.”

“When he takes a break, see if he will speak to me,” the witcher requested.

“Of course, sir. Is there anything else I can get you?” Sachi tried to smile at him, but it was hard. He was so difficult to look at.

“No, and tell the owner he doesn’t need to procure me sex, I can manage that myself.” He smiled, and she shuddered a bit at the fangs. “Though you do have a lovely shape, it is not what I am looking for tonight.” His glance went to the bard again, and she had to admit that she was relieved.

Sachi moved around the tavern refilling drinks, bringing out stew. Flirting away. Rather thought she’d let Roldo have a go under her skirts, he was good with his hands. The bard, Jaskier, she was sure she remembered his name right, gave a bow and said he would resume playing in a bit. A few coins were tossed at his feet and he collected them. “You’ve been good tonight. But not singing the songs they are eager for,” she said.

“After the break. Save the naughty stuff for when they are close to drunk, makes it more fun,” he explained. He drank half the ale that was poured for him. “Is there more stew?”

“There is,” she said. “I’ll bring you a bowl.”

“My thanks, you gorgeous siren,” he said with a wink.

She had tried to convince him to have a bit of fun last night but he had politely turned her down. He was all flirty, but clearly not interested. Since most of the men in town were rubbish at flirting, she enjoyed the winks and words. “Master bard, I have a bit of bad news.”

“Is the meat in the stew of a questionable nature? Trust me I have eaten many a foul thing in my travels.”

“No, sir. The witcher in the corner there, he was hoping you’d spend time with him.” Sachi bit her lip. “I can say you are not interested.” The poor bard was so refined in his clothing and manner. He was clearly educated, and well attractive. He had grey threads in his hair that shone in firelight, and his red doublet made his skin look so warm. When he smiled, he had these lines around his face, made him look so distinguished. Sachi sighed a little dreamily. She really wished the bard had taken her up on a tumble. “No need for a fine gentleman like you to go talk to such a monster.”

“Your care is appreciated,” Jaskier replied, “But the chance to talk to a witcher, perhaps pay for a story or two. Well, a poet like myself cannot resist the opportunity. Can you bring me a bowl of stew over to his table?”

“Of course, sir,” she agreed. “But just…tap the side of your glass twice if you need a rescue?” She flushed when he kissed her cheek, all courtly like.

“You are a kind woman,” he said. She watched him go over to the witcher and was impressed at how he met the man’s hideous gaze. Sachi though that the tables over there needed some cleaning. She grabbed a rag and maybe angled herself to hear them.

“So, what did you think of the music?” Jaskier asked.

The witcher sort of grunted, and she huffed. The bard was the best they had ever had in the tavern. Maybe the man was hard of hearing or something.

“Come on, three words or less.” Jaskier sat down.

“Fine, I suppose.”

Sachi slammed the tankards on her tray in annoyance and took them to the kitchens to be washed. She got a bowl of stew, with the fresh bread, and a glass of the good wine and brought them out to Jaskier. “For all your hard work, sir.”

“I could use some more food,” the witcher said.

“All out,” she snapped.

“More ale then,” he said.

Sachi made sure to bring him ale from the barrel that had had a rat swimming in it the other day. She then grabbed a mop and started cleaning up the vomit that hadn’t been cleaned up…ever. But she was going to make sure that monster wasn’t cruel to such a refined man like their traveling bard.

“You must have many stories to tell about monster hunts and adventures. Stories that would make excellent songs. Perhaps I could pay you to tell me some?” Jaskier leaned forward. “I have a decent amount of coin. Also it would be to your benefit?”

“Why is that?”

“I’m the man who wrote Toss a Coin you know. Changed the welcome most witchers get in a town, didn’t it?” Jaskier was eating his stew. “What would you charge for a story about…a minor hunt. A drowner, or ghouls?” 

“You sucking my cock.” The witcher leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “You let me fuck your face until you choke, and I’ll tell you whatever it is that you want to know about drowners.”

The witcher did not just say that. Sachi glanced over and expected to see the bard give what for. He was a gentleman, he would never stoop to that sort of behaviour.

“I see. What were you here for, if I may ask?”

“Wyvern,” the witcher replied. “A fearsome battle. The sort that would make you hard just to hear. The sort of epic tale that a silly little bard like you could never dream of.”

“And,” Sachi could practically hear the swallow that the bard took. “And what would be the price of that tale?”

The witcher laughed, and the sound grated at Sachi’s ears. It was a rusty, cruel sound. “Oh little lark, you could never pay that price.”

“I might be able to. I have more money than you might guess.”

“If you want the tale of the wyvern, if you want to see and touch what skin feels like when some wyvern poison has touched it, then after you are done singing for the night, you will come up to my room. When you step through the door, you will take off every single stitch that you are wearing, and you will kneel. You will crawl over to me on your hands and knees, and you will kneel there while I stroke myself and come all over your face. Then I will tie you to the bed, and fuck you hard.”

“You cannot hurt my hands.”

Damn right that monster couldn’t. Sachi was debating getting a few of the men together to remove the witcher, when she saw him smile. Not a cold thing, but loving. If such a face could ever actually show love.

“I would never harm your hands. To ruin a man’s trade is a thing a monster would do.”

“You certainly look like one.”

“Oh I am, I am the thing of nightmares. But not yours, am I?” The witcher leaned forward. “Because I could smell you as you sang. As you pretended you weren’t watching me.”

“One always glances at the freaks.”

“Yes, but they look at me with fear, revulsion. You looked at me with lust. I can smell it on you. It grows stronger every time I suggest something. For example if I said I was going to lick you open, make you beg, make you fuck yourself on my fingers until you were crying, pleading for me to fuck you raw, until you had screamed so much in pleasure you had lost your voice, your scent would go stronger. And in fact it just did. You want that so much, I could snap my fingers and you’d crawl under this table and open my leathers with your pretty little teeth and suck me off right here and now.”

Sachi had to admit that she was just about ready to do that, because that growly voice said all that in a way that made heat pool low in her. Roldo was definitely going to be having a tumble tonight.

But still, no way did the bard agree to that. “I see. How long?”

“All fucking night, until you flat out pass out from pleasure.”

“What would happen then?”

Sachi was rather curious about that herself. She supposed a brute would just dump him outside the room.

“Then, I would arrange you as comfortably as I could on the bed. I would untie you, and wash you clean so gently that you don’t even wake up. I’d hold you close and keep you warm. I run hot, you wouldn’t even need a blanket. I’d keep you safe little lark, and in the morning you’d wake up to my cock in you and my hard wrapped around you, and the orgasm would roll over you like a perfect wave.”

“I see. I can sing a bit more first?”

“You can sing as long as you like. What say you bard, will you be my whore tonight? For stories that you couldn’t even imagine, what will you pay?” 

“I’ll pay me,” Jaskier whispered.

“I accept. Go sing, my slutty little bard.”

“I can’t get up there yet, I’m hard,” Jaskier’s cheek were flame red. “I’m going to go…piss.” He got up from the table and Sachi watched him go out the side door, the one men took to piss against the side of the building. She was barely pretending to clean at this point. She watched the witcher fine Jaskier’s wine and then get up. He had to duck and turn his body to go out that door, so huge that he was.

“Sachi, the men’s drinks need refilling,” the barkeep called.

“In a minute,” she snapped, and hurried to the kitchen.

“Sachi?” The cook asked.

“Shh,” she hopped on the counter and peered out. You could just make out the area where men took their quick piss. But she couldn’t see them. “Bugger.” She wondered if she could be casual about going to the outhouse, when she heard a thump.

“What the? That monster is attacking the bard! I need to -”

“You need to hush,” Sachi whispered. 

“He’s going to rape him.” The cook grabbed her cleaver. Sachi carefully opened the window.

“Fuck you ugly brute, what the fuck what that?” they could hear the bard say.

“You wrote the script!” the witcher replied. “I read it a dozen times to get it right, and bloody had to wank after each read. Barely had enough blood in my head to kill the fucking wyvern.”

“You actually memorized it.”

“Of course I did, Jaskier. You wanted this. Although I think we traumatized that poor barmaid.” 

Sachi watched the witcher lift the bard up against the side of the outhouse and the bard wrapped his legs almost around the man. They were clearly kissing, in a way that spoke of long familiarity, and well. 

“Oh my,” the cook said and Sachi nodded.

“You need to get me off, Geralt, or I won’t be able to focus on singing.”

“Who cares about singing? Let’s go to the room and fuck.”

“No, I love how you get when you have to wait for me. Now get me off - what the fuck are you doing, you monster?”

“Did he just -” The cook gasped.

They watched as the witcher pushed the bard up the wall of the outhouse enough so that the bards legs were on his shoulders. It was like he was holding up nothing at all. Jaskier opened his trousers and then the witcher was sucking his cock, while holding the man up that high. The bard was cursing, saying filth that what she had overheard earlier to shame. She wondered how those fangs felt against his cock, if the witcher was careful. Jaskier was tugging on the man’s white hair and in a short time was biting his wrist as he clearly spilled down the witcher’s throat. The witcher eased him down and was hugging him.

“Oh, that’s, my husband hugs me like that,” the cook said. “That’s a love hug.”

Sachi nodded. Roldo sometimes hugged her like that. Maybe she’d actually let him stay the night instead of kicking him out. They saw the men move and quickly got back to work. Jaskier’s songs were incredibly tawdry and the crowd loved it. The witcher sat in the corner and watched Jaskier perform, with a hungry, possessive look on his face. She brought him over ale that never had any dead rats in it. “For you, sir,” she said.

“My thanks, but I’m happy with the taste I currently have in my mouth.”

“Spend is never a good taste,” she said and then flushed. “I mean…” She sort of shrugged. “Well then.” He smiled at her and she shuddered a bit. It was just so unpleasant. “I hope that you tell him a good tale. He is a fine gentleman.”

The witcher laughed. “He is a monster just like me, he just hungers for tales instead of the hunt.” He was fiddling with an odd string on his wrist and he never once took his eyes off Jaskier.

She didn’t understand that a whit, but left him be, and at the end of the night she saw them walking up the stairs, Jaskier a finger hooked over one of the witcher’s fingers. Until the witcher spun and hoisted the bard over his shoulder.

Sachi flushed a bit when Jaskier saw her over the monster’s shoulder. He winked and blew her a kiss. 

Jaskier then slapped the arse of the witcher hard. She could here a grumble and then a firm swat against Jaskier as well. Jaskier was laughing.

If he was that happy to bed that thing, maybe he was a monster too, after all.

“Sachi?” Roldo’s hand was on her shoulder. “Would you like a walk home?”

They could all hear a door slam above them. She looked at Roldo. “Can I tie you up?” She watched a light of surprise and desire flicker in her eyes.

“You could do whatever you wanted to me, if you let me stay.”

Sachi smiled at him. “Walk me home,” she ordered.

When she looked back up at the windows, she could see that huge shape in the light of the one window. He was picking up Jaskier and Jaskier was clearly cupping his face. She didn’t understand it all. But at least everyone was getting a good tumble that night.


	4. Ciri

Ciri was lying on the ground and looking up at the stars. Jaskier was beside her pointing them out and telling her stories. They weren’t the true stories of the stars. Not the story of bears, and fish, and everything Mousesack taught her, but of people. Love stories. Happy stories. 

“And that cluster there, is the story of a hideous man, just the most appalling creature to ever walk the earth,” Jaskier said. “Putrid eyes, fangs, shoulders that blocked out the sun, and made a distinguished, elegant, and noble bard fall desperately in love with him.”

“You had bread in your pants when we first met.” Geralt wasn’t lying down with them, he was cleaning swords and daggers. He never lay down with them. “And you weren’t distinguished, you were 18.”

“Elegant, noble, talented.” Jaskier said. “And I knew, the moment I saw him, that I was seeing my destiny.”

“Bullshit.”

Ciri huffed. Geralt always ruined it when Jaskier was telling stories of them. He liked ‘facts’ and ‘history’ and all those boring things. Ciri curled into Jaskier and ignored Geralt. “Did you love his majestic face right away?”

“No,” Jaskier replied thoughtfully. “It was completely repellent. But it didn’t bother me either.”

“When did you know you loved him?” Ciri asked. She loved asking, because Jaskier gave a different answer each time. She had no clue which was the right one. He just promised that the right answer was in there. Or would be - he had yet to repeat himself.

“I knew I loved Geralt the first time he pulled me into the bath with him. His baths as you know are the one pleasure he allows himself -”

“I allow myself your ass,” Geralt growled.

“Remember, no over sharing with our daughter’s innocent ears,” Jaskier said in a sing song voice.

Ciri giggled a bit and blushed bright red. “I’ve heard you in the woods,” she said and giggled some more. “Eist was always really loud when Grandmother did things? In their room. His men always were elbowing him the next day.”

“Anyways, I told Geralt how beautiful I found his soul, that his pure heart made him beautiful, and he was so overcome with emotion that in between the tears that streamed out of his sun orb eyes, he clutched at me and pulled me into the tub, hugging me close.”

“I tried to drown you,” Geralt commented.

Ciri glared at him a bit. “Why do you always have to ruin the story?” It was really annoying sometimes how serious Geralt was. Especially when Jaskier was being all happy and romantic. She stood up and started to walk into the woods. Geralt was getting up and she tried to copy his angry face. “I can pee alone,” she snarled. She stomped into the woods and saw Jaskier put a hand on Geralt’s arm to hold him in place.

Ciri went and peed, and then kicked a couple trees. Geralt was messing it up, and he was going to mess it up enough that it would all go wrong.

And Jaskier would leave him. Would leave them.

Ciri wiped a tear away. Sure Jaskier called Geralt names, but they were all kind of the truth, because Geralt was well, him. She sometimes tried to imagine what he looked like before the mutagens. She had asked Vesemir but he said it was wrong to focus on that. What mattered was how strong Geralt was, how he protected them. Not how he appeared. That any abnormalities in his visage were strengths that saved.

Ciri didn’t mind. Sometimes she got scared when she woke up and he was there, before she remembered it was him. He carried her like it was nothing, hours he would hold her, and she felt so safe in those large arms. He didn’t smell bad.

Well, sometimes he smelled bad, when they hadn’t found a river to swim in, or an inn that had a bath. But his face looked like he should smell rotten. And he just smelled like skin, and leather. The metal of his swords. And he smelled like whatever soap Jaskier scrubbed him with. 

Because Jaskier spent money, a lot of it, on bath stuff to spoil Geralt because Geralt did love baths more than everything. And Jaskier wrote songs about him. Complimented him, in their way. It made Geralt almost smile. And Jaskier would pick flowers and give them to Geralt. At Kaer Morhen, Jaskier always was taking care of Geralt and smiling and making everything better.

And Geralt just took it all and then made fun of Jaskier’s stories. He never said anything nice. He would throw the flowers over his shoulder. He never danced when Jaskier asked him too. Maybe one day Jaskier wouldn’t laugh it off. He’d get tired of it and then those weeks he occasionally left them. Maybe one time he wouldn’t come back.

Ciri loved Geralt, but she loved Jaskier too, and without him, everything would be so serious. Like it was with Grandmother. Jaskier made everything lighter when he was there. Geralt had to do better.

She would make him do better. Ciri kicked a tree again, and then went back to camp. Jaskier was singing to Geralt, a romantic and happy song. He practically had hearts floating around head and at the end, Geralt just sort of grunted. Ciri kicked him a bit as she walked by. She flopped on her sleeping pallet. In the morning, she was making sure that Jaskier knew he was loved and wanted. The way he made them always feel. 

Ciri was up early and picked some flowers. She hid them behind a log. Geralt was the next awake.

“Let him sleep a bit more,” Geralt told her. “We’ll walk hard today and he’ll need the bit extra sleep.”

Ciri stuck out her tongue at him, for making Jaskier walk hard, when she would get to ride with Geralt most of the day. But once he was gone, Ciri moved the flowers by Jaskier’s head. A perfect little bouquet. She pretended to fall back asleep, knew it would fool Jaskier as it wouldn’t have Geralt.

In a bit he woke up. “What’s this?” he said softly and she chanced a peak. He was smiling at the bouquet, and buried his face in it. Ciri stretched and pretended to wake. 

“Pretty flowers,” she yawned.

“Hmm, found them, just by my head, like a gift.” 

He looked so happy. Ciri felt warm in her soul that she made him smile like that. “Geralt is the only one awake,” she pointed out casually. 

“So he is,” Jaskier agreed. He walked the whole day with the flowers in his hand.

In town, Ciri bought him new strings for his lute and sneaked them into his pack. Geralt had said he was getting twangy and she could have kicked him. He knew how sensitive Jaskier was about his music. 

She thought Geralt should write Jaskier a love letter, and she was a fair hand at copying writing. But she realized that she had never seen Geralt write. They were in a tavern, and Jaskier was singing, and Geralt seemed to be asleep. Ciri elbowed him. “Wake up, pay attention to his singing.”

“I’ve heard this song hundreds of times,” Geralt didn’t open his eyes. “I’ve been listening to him sing for what, 25ish years?”

“Why have I never seen you write?” Ciri had a thought. “Can you write? You know your letters don’t you?”

“Yes, I can write,” he said. He cracked open an eye and looked at her. “I break quills easily though. And press too hard on paper, and it is expensive. Already spend enough on it for him and his scribbles.”

“His notes are going to end up in the university one day, studied for generations!” She could not believe how little he cared. She scowled and crossed her arms, not realizing that she was exactly copying how Geralt was sitting. She saw Jaskier smiling at them like they were magic or something. She had to make it all good. But if Geralt never wrote around Jaskier, then she could make it up and he wouldn’t notice the difference.

It took her a few days to get it right. But she thought the note was good. Not too flowery, but showed romance. Made sweet promises and complimented Jaskier’s singing. He’d like that. Ciri knew Jaskier would break down in joy if Geralt ever actually said something nice about his singing. Geralt was leaving them in the village while he dealt with a hunt. He had warned Jaskier not to spend too much money and headed out. She had made sure to leave the note on Geralt’s pillow after he had left.

Jaskier was always sad when Geralt left them, and the note would make it better.

He had smiled all morning as they shopped. She knew she had been right.

Jaskier was buying them supplies for the road, and Ciri had a new cloak, Jaskier new shoes. And he bought a whetstone and a bunch of small things for Geralt. They bought treats from a bakery and ate them by a fountain. “Ciri, darling?”

“Yes?” she tilted her head up to the sun.

“I’d like you to stop, please.”

She stopped from eating the last bit of apple tart. “I’m sorry, did you want it?” She held out the last mouthful. She looked at him and froze. Why did he look so sad? “You can have it?” Ciri held out the bite.

“No, little wolf,” Jaskier wrapped an arm around her. “I want you to stop leaving the flowers and the notes, and everything else.”

“They were from Geralt,” she said. They were, if the big lummox had ever thought of it, she was sure he would have given Jaskier all the things.

“Little wolf, no lying.” Jaskier booped her nose. “They are from you, pretending they are from him. And I can’t figure out why, but you are confusing him, and I would prefer you to stop.”

“He doesn’t love you,” she blurted out and felt horrible. Ciri clapped hand over her mouth and her eyes filled with tears. Jaskier pulled her even closer and she sat on his lap. It wasn’t the same as sitting on Geralt where she felt small, painfully fragile. But it was comforting. Ciri cried a little against his chest. “He doesn’t love you, and you’ll get tired of trying and you’ll leave us. And I can’t bear it. I couldn’t bear it if you left.”

“And where would I go?” Jaskier asked.

“Back to Oxenfurt, you always talk about missing it.”

“Do you not miss Cintra?” he countered and she nodded against him. “We miss who we were once, and wonder what it would be like to be that person again. But no money or prize or stature could get me to go back longer than for a few weeks.”

“But he -” Ciri bit her lip. “You do so much, and he doesn’t care.”

“How do you know that?” Jaskier smoothed her hair and wiped her tears.

Ciri was quiet. “He doesn’t give you flowers.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Jaskier agreed. “I can’t quite picture my hideous monster standing with a bouquet in hand.”

“Eist read Grandmother poetry.”

“I can’t quite picture Queen Calanthe reading some back to him.”

“She did in their room. When they thought they were alone.” Ciri looked at him. “If she managed to be romantic, Geralt can too.”

She closed her eyes when Jaskier kissed her head. “I love that you were looking out for me cub,” Jaskier told her and that eased the knot in her belly. “But you need to open your eyes and see.”

“See what?” she asked, lost.

“Open your eyes, little cub, and you’ll see how much he loves me.”

They went back to the room and played cards, and he showed her how to cheat. They were having fun and they heard heavy steps in the hall. “Geralt finished early,” Jaskier was smiling. The door to the room opened. “And there is my monstrosity, and oooh it looks like we are going to have a new scar. Delicious.”

Ciri looked at Geralt and he was bleeding from his neck. He dropped a coin purse on the table. “I’m fine.”

“Sure you are,” Jaskier agreed and started to fuss. And Geralt let him.

Ciri took the weapons that Jaskier handed her and she put them carefully against the wall. Geralt was very particular. A warrior took care of his own weapons. No one else cleaned or sharpened your blade, because it might change the feel, the weight in your hand.

Jaskier shouted down the hall for bath water and servants brought some in. Geralt stripped down and slid into the water. Camping and the witcher life, meant any shame about nudity was forgotten quickly and Ciri didn’t even really notice the nakedness. She took a jug of water and started to clean the blood off his armor. Jaskier tended to the wound, and then came over.

Ciri watched Jaskier tend to Geralt’s swords. She looked over, honestly scared how Geralt would react. Once a stable boy had just touched them and Geralt had shouted and the lad had pissed himself. Geralt must hear the whetstone. He was going to come out of the water and rage at Jaskier. But instead he sunk deeper into the water, and seemed to almost fall asleep.

He was trusting Jaskier with his swords. He wasn’t even watching.

Oh.

“Are you starting to see?” Jaskier asked her.

Ciri nodded slowly. 

“Keep looking,” Jaskier suggested.

Ciri watched over the next couple weeks. And she listened. It wasn’t just that paper was expensive, it was that Geralt would only allow the expense for Jaskier. They got slow starts some mornings, so Jaskier could sleep after performing too late. Geralt had heard the songs hundreds of times, but regularly stayed below to listen, even if he did have his eyes closed.

He caught rabbits when Jaskier mentioned a longing for rabbit stew. He at the fire would speak of old hunts. Never with a flourish or interesting words, but if Jaskier asked about a creature, Geralt would answer. Geralt carved picks from bones. When he yelled at Jaskier it was always because Jaskier was reckless.

Because Geralt couldn’t live without him.

Ciri slowly realized that there were many ways to say I love you. Jaskier said it loudly, showy. Geralt said it in quiet little moments, deeds. And Jaskier saw each one, every time. Jaskier had fallen asleep, it had been a long walk. When he was asleep, Geralt took off Jaskier’s shoes and began to rub his feet for him. “Geralt?”

“Hmm?”

“Did he tell you?”

“Probably?” Geralt was frowning. “He tells me a lot of things.”

“About what I was doing?” Ciri winced a bit. “I’m sorry, for it.”

“Very well,” he agreed. “It is fine. Forgotten.”

“You don’t know at all, do you?”

“Not a clue,” Geralt agreed and smiled. The moon was bright and it made his fangs shine. They didn’t scare her like they used to. She had seen him use them to tear a lute string to the right size for Jaskier when Jaskier couldn’t find his small knife.

“If I asked you a question, would you answer it for real?”

“What is the question?” Geralt countered.

“When did you know you loved him?” Ciri had to know. Because whatever he said, it would be the truth. The trick was would he answer.

“Ten or so years, after we first met? Time is a bit tricky,” Geralt said. “It keeps coming for him, not matter how I try to stop it. Not that he wants me to stop it. He likes the grey, makes him look distinguished with that baby face of his.”

“Was it one of his big gestures that made you realize?” she asked.

“No,” Geralt shook his head. “It was one of his quiet moments. We were in a shitty inn room. An attic one. It was summer and so hot. It was pouring rain and the roof leaked and it was steamy from the rain and the heat, but it was better than being in the woods in that rain. He was wringing out wet clothes. He sat on the ground attempting to pretend like the clothes would dry. And he had a thought. A melody or words. I don’t know. He was naked and he dove for his pack, and his paper was ruined. He was devastated. He asked me to fix it. Like someone I could solve this problem like it were a hunt.”

“And did you?”

“I went downstairs and paid a fortune for the cook to tear one measly page out of the back of her recipe book. I gave it to him. And he looked at me, like I was something good. Something beautiful. And I watched him write. Tiny print to fit it on the page. One hand on the paper, one hand on me as he did it. Like I was a needed connection. And I realized that I loved him.” 

Ciri was crying a little. “That is so romantic. Does he know?”

“No,” Geralt said. “That is my story. His are the good ones.”

“I know too, now.”

“So you do,” Geralt agreed. He held out an arm and she tucked herself under it. 

“Father?”

“Hmm?”

“You are really quite romantic. In your way.”

“That is what your dad always says, when people make cracks about the beast, the monster who trails after the bard.”

Ciri realized that she had been one of those people too. “I’m sorry.” She hugged him, her arms not even going halfway around him.

“Whatever it is, it is fine. I promise.”

Ciri nodded against him. 

The next day there was a frost on the ground.

“Time to turn to home,” Geralt said. He looked at them both and smiled. “Ready for that? You could use a rest, your singing has gotten draggy.”

A month ago Ciri would have been furious at Geralt, but now she knew that wasn’t an insult, that was him saying he wanted to take care of Jaskier, rest his throat. Let him not have to worry about bringing in coin.

“My beloved monster, I am ready as ever to travel by your side.” Jaskier gave a deep bow and kissed Geralt’s hand, the fingers curved just a bit like claws. “I did notice your chest hair was getting thicker.”

Geralt huffed a bit and they broke camp.

Ciri smiled. It would be good to go home. She watched Geralt wrap Jaskier in his cloak that hung absurdly on the bard and Geralt made fun of him, even as he tugged it to protect the bard. 

How she had ever missed how romantic Geralt was, she’d never know.


	5. Eskel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, this retcons a bit from the first story. Because Jaskier mentions Eskel saying something in the first story, and this one implies they never met. I'm going to go back and change eskel to lambert in the first one. i suppose i could have written this one as lambert but well i wanted eskel's scars here. and it is fanfic, we are already retconning to hell and back as it is, so a little more doesn't matter.

Eskel approached the village carefully. He had been wandering the wilds most of this spring, hunting a griffin, for personal reasons. But he had killed it and carried feathers and hide. He had harvested the heart would should fetch a could price from a healer. But to do that he needed to go to a village. That often didn’t go well. The scars on his face off putting.

At least he had been attractive before, and it still shone through a bit. Eskel was always a little relieved that he had not been chosen for the extra mutagens. He remembered when Geralt had been brought back to the rooms they had all shared. Misshapen, changed. Eskel could smile and people could see he had once been handsome.

He shuddered to think of the treatment that Geralt with his face and mutations must receive in a town. Eskel was coldly welcomed at best. Geralt was probably denied entry, entirely. Eskel took the organ to the healer’s hut and the healer looked very pleased to see him. Must be a long time since he had had griffin organs. The healer offered coin or trade, and Eskel’s potions were running a little low, so he took the trade. 

Eskel was a bit confused because he was used to people not liking to look at the scars, but the man was staring at him easily. Perhaps this was the rare welcoming village. He decided to take a chance. “Would I be able to get a room at the inn, if there is one?”

“Of course! You and your bard are welcome, always!”

Eskel frowned and looked behind him as if someone was magically going to appear there. He was still alone in the shop. He was always alone. “My bard?” He shrugged. “My thanks for the potions.”

“Not at all, not at all. Always a pleasure to have a witcher stop in the village.”

What the fuck was that. 70 years of traveling the lands, hunting, and he had never heard that sentence before. Eskel decided that the man was mad and went to the inn, thoroughly expecting to not be welcome. He went in and went to the barkeep. “Is a room available?”

“A witcher! Welcome. Always room is made for one of your kind. Your first drink is on me. We have been blessed once again with a witcher!” 

The half dozen people in the room all cheered.

What the fuck was that?

“Are you cursed in this town, is there a hunt required?” Eskel was lost, that could be the only reason for this welcome. They had to be plagued with something truly monstrous.

“No, we are fine. Geralt of Rivia, and Jaskier of the White Wolf were through what two months ago, took care of any problems. Where is your bard?” The man was looking behind Eskel as if to magically conjure up a bard.

“I travel alone. Like all witchers,” Eskel said. “No one would travel with us.”

“Oh, you haven’t found your bard yet,” the woman said. “I am so sorry. That is just the saddest. I’ll get you some food.” She winked at him and gave a little shimmy of her hips.

“Sachi, don’t be cruel to the poor man.” Eskel went very still as the man gave him a sympathetic shoulder pat. He tried to remember the last time anyone not a whore touched him and came up blank. “I am sure your bard is looking for you out there, and you will find them.”

“My thanks?” Eskel said slowly. “And some food would be welcome. With meat that hasn’t gone bad yet?” He dared to push his luck.

“Only the finest for any witcher in my business,” the man swore. “Sachi, take care of him.”

“Of course. The table in the corner there, was the one preferred by the soulmates.” She gestured to the corner. And it was the one a witcher would choose, best sight lines in the place. It was only when he was sitting and keeping an eye on everyone that the words she had said actually were processed by his mind. When she brought a tray with crisp smelling hard cider, and stew, and fresh bread in quantities enough to satisfy a witcher appetite he had to ask. “Soulmate?” He blinked when she sat down across from him.

Seriously, what the fuck?

“Of course. The master bard sang of it. How there will be a day, when a witcher meets a bard and they begin to travel the world together because they are bound by truth and honour and destiny.” 

Good lord the woman was almost crying. Eskel drank most of the cider and began to eat. Fuck, he had never had better.

“You actually served Geralt, even with all his -” Eskel didn’t want to insult his wolf brother, but even fellow witchers found him difficult to look at.

“Oh, he is ugly to be sure, and that is central to a lot of the songs. But when you think about the whys and wherefores, the ugly is still hideous but understandable. And it makes the bard’s love and affection even more wonderful doesn’t it?” she beamed at him. “I do so hope you find your bard, and soon, good witcher. So that you may feel that love and joy.” 

Eskel absolutely did not know what to do when she kissed his scarred cheek.

He decided that the town was definitely cursed. But it was the best bed he had ever had in an inn before. 

Eskel continued on his lone journey, a vision in black in the bright summer months. He waited for the usual hatred and apathy, but it seemed everywhere he went he was greeted with similar. Joy upon his arrival, friendly greetings, and sympathy for his lack of a bard and reassurance that one day he would find his soul mate.

A child had actually hugged him for fuck’s sake.

Eskel stopped looking for work and started looking for Geralt because this had to be fixed. He was sort of missing people looking at him with awe and fear. Not missing the food thrown at him, but just they were out there ruining the witcher’s reputation. Making them seem like they weren’t monsters.

That had to be wrong, didn’t it?

Because they were monsters.

Weren’t they?

It took months, and fall was creeping into the air enough that he had to turn towards home. He hadn’t been to Kaer Morhen for a few winters, but honestly after this particular summer he needed the break from the very confusing world. It was dark and cold, and he was debating making camp, when he saw the flicker of flame in the distance. He approached carefully, but anyone camping here was likely a witcher. He could hear a lute playing and soft singing.

Eskel moved faster. 

There was Geralt, his monstrous form laying there as the bard serenaded him. Geralt looked as relaxed as Eskel had ever seen him. “You!” he shouted. “What the fuck did you do?” He went over and kicked Geralt in the side. Geralt didn’t even flinch the bastard. Eskel kicked harder. 

“I trust since you aren’t getting up my beloved monster, that him kicking you is okay?” the bard said.

What the shit was that beloved monster shit?

“Brother,” Geralt grunted. “Eskel.”

Eskel took a few steps back as the bard squealed and dropped his lute, which Geralt caught. And then the bard was hugging him. “What the fuck?”

“He’s tactile,” Geralt said. “You get used to it.”

Eskel had no intention of getting used to it. He tried to nudge the bard away, but the human had a really strong grip. Like really strong. The hug wasn’t stopping. “Geralt? Help?”

Geralt groaned as he stood and pried Jaskier off Eskel and Eskel sat on a log well away from them. “You ruined witcher’s reputation, everywhere!”

“Excuse me?” the bard gasped and Eskel’s eyes widened as a finger wagged at him. “You mean I saved it, thank you very much.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt sat and pulled the bard into his lap. “You have to be nice. This is going to be confusing for him. I’m the friendly witcher.”

“That is not a sentence you just said, my darling abomination.”

“What the fuck is up with that?” Eskel looked at them. “Are you insulting my brother? Is this how you show affection? Geralt I know you were always the friendly outgoing one, but you shouldn’t put up with that sort of talk no matter how good fucking his arse is.”

“Seriously, wait. You are seriously saying my monster is the nice monster?” Jaskier looked at Geralt. “You? Really you?”

Geralt laughed a bit and kissed his head. “Yes, me.”

“My whole world has changed its axis, and it hurts. Make it better, dear heart.”

That was a fine thing to say, Eskel nodded a little bit. He watched Geralt run a hand over Jaskier’s hair and whisper to him. Eskel could easily hear but pretended that he didn’t. Shit, they fit together well, like real soulmates. What the fuck was that?

“I say what I say to him because he’d loathe the flowery language I used on all my previous conquests. Of which there were one or two,” Jaskier explained.

“One or two hundred,” Geralt corrected. “My wonderful slut.”

Jaskier smiled and Eskel was charmed for a moment before he shook the feeling off. “Exactly so, but now that I am only your slut, I don’t use those false words. Only true ones. He is an ugly brute of a monster and I want nothing more than him. He is my favourite thing.”

“Did you hit your head a lot of a child?” Eskel asked. That would make it make sense. They were looking at each other with love. He could smell it on both of them. It was weird.

“Wait until you meet our daughter!” Jaskier said.

“I’m going to go to sleep,” Eskel declared. The love was weird enough, and there was a daughter too? He was done with it all.

In the morning they all headed to the keep, the bard singing the whole while. It was actually quite nice. When they got there a young girl ran and greeted them and Eskel decided to go hide in his room. Lambert came to visit him. “Was it as weird out there for you as it was for me?”

“People were friendly, and it is all Jaskier’s fault,” Lambert said.

“Thank you!” Eskel paused a bit. “I mean, it didn’t suck.”

“No, it didn’t.”

“People think there is a bard soulmate out there now for every witcher waiting to be found. Stupid, isn’t it?” Eskel said. They could hear the bard shouting, and the girl laughing, and Geralt making snarling beast noises. Chasing them. A family game.

“Very stupid,” Lambert agreed.

“Next spring are you going looking for a bard of your own?” Eskel asked.

“Of course I fucking am,” Lambert replied.

Eskel nodded. “Me too.”

That night after dinner Jaskier sang to them all, moving about the dining hall, and regularly ending up in Geralt’s lap. After the girl went to bed, Eskel pointed at him. “Right. So like how to you catch a bard? Do you lay out like a circle of flowers, what is the spell, the incantation?” Lambert leaned forward clearly interested as well.

The bard was smiling at them, and it freaked Eskel out. That was a dire smile. “Don’t worry, by spring we’ll have you ready to catch a bard of your very own,” Jaskier promised.

Eskel was terrified.

But he soaked up every bit of advice Jaskier gave him. 

What the fuck, had he become? Geralt just laughed at him, drooling off those stupid fangs. But he didn’t care. Come spring, he’d get a bard of his own. A really good one, show up Geralt next winter. Just you wait.

He was going to catch him a soulmate. If the monster could do it, so could he. 

And he did.


	6. Jaskier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading this!

Jaskier could feel the heat of Geralt around him and snuggled into his monster. “Mmm,” he said, not really awake. There was enough winter sun in the room for him to know he had slept in, and a fair bit because Geralt smelled sweaty which meant he had had morning training with Eskel and Lambert. But Geralt had kept him up rather late last night, so the sleep in was nice. Geralt was biting his neck and Jaskier smiled a little, but when Geralt’s hand began to stroke down his stomach, Jaskier halted its travels. “Maybe later, not really in the mood,” he said and they both froze in shock. “Did I just say that?” Jaskier turned in Geralt’s arms. “Did you hear me say those words?”

“I did,” Geralt replied, and he was starting to ease away from Jaskier and no no no, that wasn’t happening. He needed to be held. Jaskier burrowed into Geralt’s chest and put an arm around him. 

“Geralt, what’s happened to me? Is it a curse, is it a spell?” Jaskier felt a tear trickle out of his eye. “Why would I say that?”

“Because you aren’t in the mood after us fucking for almost four hours last night?” Geralt offered.

Jaskier gasped and sank his teeth into Geralt’s chest. Not that they really sank in with how hard Geralt’s skin was. “I’m always in the mood! I have always been in the mood for you. It is sex with my beloved monster. I was once shredded by a hippogriff and still sucked your cock, I was in the mood!”

“Well it is your 50th birthday, so maybe it is just age and fuck that was the wrong thing to say wasn’t it?” Geralt winced.

“Yes, it was! We agreed that we would not mention that detail,” Jaskier was highly offended. He dressed. “Excuse me, Geralt. I am going to go drown myself.” Jaskier winced when he was pulled into a hard embrace. “Ow, you brute, will you let me breathe?"

“You can’t leave me, please. Please my bard, don’t whatever you are thinking, don’t.”

“Oh lord, I meant drown my sorrows in tea, with my bards,” Jaskier patted his head. Decades and the poor monster sometimes forgot all of Jaskier's training in the dramatic arts. “I’m not going anywhere. Not today, not tomorrow, not until spring, and then it is us going out to have more adventures and fun.” He kissed the scar that ran along Geralt’s face. A new thing from last year’s hunt. “I am here. Yours. For every single day the gods grant us.”

It took a few more minutes to convince Geralt to let him go, and Jaskier finally got free and started to head to the library. Ciri walked by and he ached. She had grown up so fast. She was as tall as him, and lithe, worked with daggers and bow. “Happy -” Jaskier glared at her. “Happy day isn’t it? Don’t think it will storm today?” 

“Good girl.”

“Love you, Dad,” she said and kissed his cheek as she walked by. He felt the press of a gift in his hand and she ran away.

“We agreed!” he shouted after her.

“I ignored you!” she shouted back and dove out a whole in the keep wall so that he couldn’t chase after her. Jaskier sighed and continued to the library. The other bards were there, with fiddle and drum. He smiled at them. He had been utterly shocked when Eskel and Lambert had come home with their bards. And he adored them. He also knew they would understand his pain.

“I turned down sex this morning, I wasn’t in the mood.”

“Are you sick?” Katja, Eskel’s bard asked.

“Did you pull a muscle riding him? I’ve done that with Lambert, made me not want have sex for a couple days,” Vanya asked. He hurried over and ran his hands over Jaskier’s ribs, checking him over.

“No, I just was tired and not feeling it.”

“I am so sorry, Jaskier,” Katja sounded devastated and hurried over and hugged him. He leaned against her, she was always so soft and comforting. Vanya was rubbing his shoulder in sympathy.

“Geralt dismissed saying it was probably related to what day it is,” Jaskier added and enjoyed their gasps of rage and horror. “Thank you! You understand.” He knew his bards would. 

“I am writing a song that makes fun of his dick,” Katja immediately went to the table and began to write. 

Vanya was glaring at the door, and Jaskier was sure even across the keep that Geralt was feeling that stare. Vanya’s only having one eye made that sneer of disdain and rage much more impactful. 

Jaskier sighed and sat at the table. “You, my babies, are young, and have many years of dedicated monster fucking in you. But what is the point of living, if I only want to fuck mine once a day? What’s next, every other day, then once a week?” Jaskier put his head down and weeped. They were comforting him and Katja poured him some tea, and Vanya made sure it was half whisky. “I have spent decades fucking him. So much sex, and I was never not in the mood. He was the one who sometimes was like, Jaskier I’m holding my guts in, don’t smell like arousal. Jaskier if you get naked right now you’ll freeze to death. Jaskier we have a bed upstairs, why should we fuck against the building where someone could see us?”

“So they could see how lucky we are to be fucked by our monsters, duh,” Katja frowned. “So people know what they lost out on.”

Vanya nodded. “I like when people watch Lambert make me come for like the third time, and realize how good they could have had it if only they paid attention to how amazing our monsters are.”

“Exactly!” Jaskier drank the tea and held up the glass. “A titch less whisky, I haven’t eaten anything.” Katja coughed and some honeycakes were brought out. He looked at her.

“Just random cakes I made this morning, for no reason whatsoever,” she smiled at him. “Same as I wrote a song about your exploits, how you changed the world for absolutely no reason whatsoever.”

He kissed her head. “Thank you,” he said softly.

“I carved you a fake dick out of wood, for also no reason whatsoever,” Vanya put it on the table. “Based mostly on Lambert, size wise. Figured you’d enjoy.”

“Thank you,” Jaskier picked up the fake cock. “You are both the best.” They ate cakes and drank tea and whisky and played music together. Never actually referencing what day it was. It was a good morning. He also opened Ciri’s gift and it was a ring with a wolf on it, a lute in its snarling mouth. He cried a little bit. He had no problems with that, because it was equally parts love and the whisky in his system. He went to their rooms and flopped on the bed. His head was a touch swimmy, in a good way. He had had less to drink than the baby bards, but was feeling it.

Another aspect of growing older. It sucked.

“Geralt?” He could feel his witcher in the room.

“Yes?”

“When you measure me for my burial shroud, I want to make it very clear if you make it black, I will haunt you for all your endless days.” Jaskier was clutching the wooden dildo.

“That looks like Lambert’s dick. A birthday gift from Vanya?”

“Stop saying the word!” Jaskier lifted a hand to give his monster a rude gesture. “We agreed!”

“I am ignoring you,” Geralt said.

“Ciri said that too,” Jaskier pouted. “Why?” he whined. Why weren’t all his monsters behaving themselves?

“Because if we didn’t ignore you about this, you’d be upset. You are contrary like that.”

It was very annoying that Geralt was correct. Jaskier held out an arm, and groaned when Geralt’s weight dropped on him. “Fine, you have permission to fete me.” Jaskier smiled when Geralt snuffled at his neck. Breathing Jaskier in before sitting up. He opened a night table and dropped a gift onto his chest. Jaskier sat up as well and opened the box. It was a witcher medallion, two actually and it was the same as the ring. A wolf with lute in its mouth. Jaskier smiled. “In case I lose the first. Smart.” He had maybe lost his witcher medallion. Once, twice, half a dozen times.

Jaskier held very still as Geralt slipped it over his neck, and then took the second and slipped it over his own neck. “Oh,” Jaskier said softly. “But you wear the lute string.”

“I wanted us to match.” Geralt touched where it rested against Jaskier’s chest. “The world knows we are a pair, but figured well.” He shrugged a bit. “Ciri saw me doing it and decided the matching ring too.”

Jaskier nodded. “You are wonderful. Now fuck my face.”

“You look more like you want a nap than to do that.”

Jaskier pouted. “I do. Vanya was the one pouring the whisky.” 

Geralt lay down next to him. “You have more grey in your beard.”

“You are never fucking my face again,” Jaskier pinched his ear, even as he snuggled in. 

“I like it, Jask. It is distinguished.” Geralt kissed his head. “And don’t even try to like that, because you’d never go too long without me fucking your face.”

“Fine,” Jaskier sighed, it was true. God he loved choking on Geralt’s cock. “You can’t fuck my face for at least three days.” There that was a realistic threat, but now that he had said that, it felt too long. “You can’t fuck my face until tomorrow. And shut up.” Jaskier said when he could feel Geralt’s laughter against him. “Nap with me?”

“I’ll lay with you,” Geralt agreed, because the ageless boor didn’t need naps.

Jaskier never fell all the way asleep, just lightly drifted and dozed, and in that half asleep state heard the words that Geralt only said when Jaskier could only half hear them. Words of love and praise and promise. That no matter if Jaskier went full grey, saggy, anything else that came with aging, Geralt would always hunger for him, want him. That if the day came, when the day came that Jaskier couldn’t wander the earth anymore, they’d settle into the keep, or maybe at the coast, and enjoy each other for however long they had. That he was Jaskier’s for the rest of Jaskier’s life, and for the rest of his too.

Jaskier smiled as he drifted. He maybe would remember the words, he maybe wouldn’t, but it didn’t matter because the warmth they gave him right now was enough. Was everything.

When he properly woke he smiled at Geralt who was just there, watching him. “You have the ugliest eyes,” Jaskier declared. “And the new scar? There is no epic song I can sing to make that seem attractive.”

“You love it,” Geralt said.

“Every single bit of it,” Jaskier swore. He leaned in and kissed Geralt.

“Your mouth tastes disgusting,” Geralt said when they pulled apart. 

“We should go downstairs,” Jaskier suggested.

“No, you aren’t allowed down.”

“Why?” Jaskier looked at Geralt, who couldn’t quite meet his eyes. “Party decorating is going on, hmm?” Geralt sort of shrugged. “I’m fifty, Geralt. How did that happen?” Jaskier shook his head. “I met you yesterday. And you rescued me.”

“No, Jaskier,” Geralt smoothed his hair, and nuzzled against his beard. “You saved me. Turned the monster into a hero.”

“You always were, dear heart. My horrific beloved monster.” Jaskier kissed him again. “Right, well what shall we do, if we aren’t allowed downstairs?” He slid his hands into Geralt’s trousers. He was now very much in the mood.

“If we do it now, no complaining if you aren’t in the mood later tonight, when I show you the other birthday gifts I got you.” Geralt’s gaze was dark and full of promise of interesting things.

Jaskier pushed and Geralt let himself be rolled. He leaned down over Geralt’s face and their matching medals clanged against each other. He smiled at him. “Don’t worry, your monster fucker is ready to go.”

“Show me,” Geralt said and Jaskier bit his lip, at the feast that lay below him. 

A feast he would never tire of. He just needed a little more rest than he used to between nibbles, was all.

Fifty wasn’t so bad, not with everything he had in this world.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Healer's Hands](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23724781) by [fannishliss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fannishliss/pseuds/fannishliss)




End file.
